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Hey guys!
On the first of May 2012 Troubled Core Publishing House (www.TroubledCore.Com) will be released officially. Feel free to check us out, we're willing to help with any and all publishing projects so if you've got a book up your sleeve, get in touch!
This post is mainly a sample chapter for Chaos Nova - Taking Flight Part 1
If you like Sci-Fi then I really hope this does enough to tempt you into checking out the rest of the book or our other stories.
Our books are currently available on Troubled Core although the code I have for everyone will only work on Smashwords.com You can find my personal Smashwords account here
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/KnuxVeeone
The discount code will only work with Taking Flight - Part 1

Discount Code:VJ32K

Now, without further rambling, allow me to introduce Taking Flight, Chapter 1

Chapter One: Picking up trash

Hidden far away on a small desert moon near the edge of Known space stood the shanty village, Tucker IX with its small buildings made of wood and salvaged space-ship parts. A quiet town of about a hundred working people and their families, with the occasional visitor blowing through on a stop off between planets. Littered upon the surface of the moon were huge workshop complexes and space vessel garages big enough to house a small cruiser although these made little impact on the overall moon itself. Other small towns were scattered across the place, usually to house private firms or their workers for the garages however Tucker IX was the only one using salvaged vessel parts for building materials. The dirt-roads in-between the towns buildings were awash with enough dust and sand blowing around to fill an adults lungs. The citizens were going about their usual business, some were farming, others drinking, most were happy although the occasional brawl would spill out of one of the many pubs dotted around town.

"Another!" One man at the bar demanded as he angrily slammed his now empty glass down, causing a small crack around the base. The scruffy dark haired man wore a large hooded coat that seemed to engulf him. Dry blood covered his hair, face and hands. It was also clear most of it was his. While he waited impatiently, he felt the need to pat himself down. In his top pocket he found a small tin filled with herbs and rolling papers. He had clearly suffered a blow to the head although the motion of rolling felt familiar to him.
It was unclear how he had got here, as if his entire life had been a blur until this point. His head began to ache again, almost as if remembering was physically painful.
The bar tender soon returned with the man's drink. As he placed it on the counter he reached for a lighter and fired up the man's smoke with a well practiced flick. As the flame burned the end of the shoddy roll-up, the bar-tender looked into the mans eyes. He couldn't be sure but it looked as if they were changing colour. As the flame went out the man smiled his thanks before reaching for his glass. The bar tender turned to serve another customer and put the strangers eye problem down to some sort of sight issue.
The man's coat was also covered in blood, it was clearly more recent than the scarring and dry claret that covered the rest of him. For all the damage though he seemed to be in good shape, just needed cleaning up. He took a deep lung full of smoke and held it for a moment longer than usual before blowing out, now heavily relaxed. His eyes occasionally shifted around the room, once or twice he locked eyes with one of the non-human residents before returning to his drink. A few of the bar staff kept an uneasy eye on proceedings, the last racial fight resulted in a small war. All old history now but it was always at the back of everyone's minds.

The bar door would open every now and then as people came and went. The sound of the odd ship could be heard breaking atmo, bringing more workers or immigrants to this moon with promises of money and happiness.
In the more immediate area, the low hum of the older model hover cars sat outside charging, filled the air.

Slamming another empty glass down on the bar, he got to his feet and stumbled slightly. He used the stool to help keep himself stable and stubbed his barely finished roll-up out in the once clean ash-tray. Slowly he made his way towards the bathroom, rubbing his head as he went. All the pain he was suffering when he had entered the pub had been replaced by numbness from the booze or the drugs and a headache. Finally the door to the bathroom swung open and he stumbled inside, locking it behind him.
For a moment he rested, slumped against the door trying to gather his thoughts. He wasn't sure how he'd come to arrive here but one thing was certain, it had taken a struggle. The pain had been unbearable but now he could remember nothing. He slowly made his way over to the shattered remains of one of the mirrors, the shards covered in toilet paper. Starring at himself in the pieces he concentrated, trying to remember what had happened.

Turning on the cold tap he let the sink fill and turned back to his thoughts.

Who am I?
You don't remember?
Not a damn thing.
Nothing?
I remember how to drink.
Name?

He looked up at himself and slowly shook his head.
A few minutes later, he lowered his hood, took a deep breath and plunged his face into the freezing water of the almost overflowing sink.
His once light coloured hair had now been permanently dyed faded shades of claret thanks to the blood although his face was cleaning up a treat. The only evidence of him being in a fight now were the scars, bruises and the state of his clothes. As he freed his arms up from his coat, he caught a pocket on the tip of his rifle. A rickety old automatic he'd pulled off a corpse on his way in, now slung over his shoulders as he slowly became lost in his thoughts again.

A bang on the door caused him to jump.
"Hurry up will ya?!"
"You don't wanna come in here pal." He replied, almost threateningly.
A loud sigh from behind the door and several footsteps later it was clear he had a few more minutes washing up. He pulled his coat over and emptied the sink before refilling it with hot water. Using the steam he wrote a few names.

'Charlie'
'Ricky'
'Rory'

Corey.

His lips trembled, it was almost as if someone had told him his name. He considered his sanity before he slowly spoke.

"Corey"

It sounded familiar, although he had a feeling it wasn't his old name, maybe someone he knew. Unsure he tried again.

"Corey"

He had to admit it suited him. With a dark smile he finished washing his coat. A little cleaner although still discoloured. As he pulled it back on he could feel the wet soaking through his shirt. 'Corey' was also a little more sober now thanks to the quick wash.
Looking down at his wrist, he noticed a small marking, similar to an injection. Suddenly his mind started screaming with broken flashbacks. It was all a mess. Corey gripped his head to try and sooth the immense pain. One thought stuck out amoungst the others. He'd been strapped down, tubes filled with different colour fluids ran into his arms.
Suddenly he doubled over and everything seemed to return to normal. His breathing was heavy, seconds later and he was rushing for the nearest stall, shivering as his stomach emptied.

After another small clean-up, Corey made his way back towards the bar. As he emerged into the packed out room he noted a man entering with a big rimmed duster and a bag slung over his shoulder. It was becoming a little crowded in the small building although it didn't matter, Corey could do with the atmosphere, he was pleased no-one had taken his seat as he pulled the stool under himself and ordered another drink. The realization that he had no memory began to become his main concern. After the incident in the bathroom he tried to think a little harder about what had happened to lead him here. He began rolling another smoke, ordered a drink and continued to waste his day.


A few miles out of the town along one of the many rows of warehouses and ship garages, stood a workshop, in slightly better condition than the rest. The shine of its metal made the inside hotter than a furnace and blinded anyone driving too close without shades on.
The hangar housed a classic Rayuelen frigate in terrible condition. Damage down both sides and a huge hole where the bridge should have been. It was almost impossible to see what the basic shape should have been although various plans and data sheets spread around the workbenches showed it to be an arrow-head type battle-frigate.
Three grease stained men were stood, looking over the plans with determination on their weathered faces. One man in-particular seemed to be doing most of the thinking while the other two considered how they'd implement his plans.
Alex Turner, a young veteran of the long standing war between his home world of Rystar I and the rest of the galaxy. Retired now, and although his wrinkled hands and face didn't show it, he was probably one of the youngest retired soldiers of his day.
He ran his finger's along the brim of his hat before looking back over at the heap they had in-front of them. One of his fellow retired friends let out a smirk and couldn't help himself stating, "sure isn't a Scythe."
Alex shook his head, "But then nothing is. Don't worry, when we're finished this thing will handle like a charm." He gave his friend a re-assuring smile and a warm pat on the shoulder. "Trust me."

Slowly the day drew to a close and before long the three ship re-builders were either headed for their bunks, or in Alex's case, on their way to town.

The sun hadn't quite set as he pulled his battered land cruiser up outside one of the towns many bars. He promised himself he'd only have a couple then head back to the hangar to get his head down. He'd also promised himself to get some extra supplies while he was here.
Alex pulled his ruck-sack out from the back of the cruiser and grabbed his old rifle up from under the seat. He didn't often run into trouble in the town but when people got drunk they needed a little convincing to stay away from him.
A few minutes later and he had kicked shut the door to his cruiser and was headed inside the bar.

It didn't take Alex long to find a seat. Some people knew of his exploits on the outer worlds and willingly offered up their places. Probably more out of respect than fear. He thanked one young man for his seat and offered to pay for his next drink.
A quick scan of the bar didn't reveal anyone of interest except for a rather tattered and bloodied man. He looked like he'd just had a bath too. Alex studied him for a few seconds, watching the odd man smoke and drink himself into a stupor.
It reminded him of himself when he'd been on short holidays with the troops. They'd usually end up fighting with a group of fellow soldiers and end the night all getting wonderfully plastered together. This man had an air of anger about him though, and judging from his clothes whatever fight he'd been in had ended badly for him.

The bar-tender placed Alex's frothing pint on the bar and held his hand out for payment. Almost stunned Alex began to pat himself down. "I've left it in the buggy, give me two minutes."
Making his way back outside, it didn't take him long to find his wallet in the glove box. "I remember my gun but not my wallet..." He sighed, sat in the driver's seat for a few seconds. He longed to go back to Rystar, to rejoin the war effort. He sat in deep thought for a few seconds before something more important gained his attention.

Almost in answer to his thoughts, the usually quiet tones of the town were slowly being over-taken by a much louder noise. Alex knew the sound anywhere, a failing thruster on an Arabian ship.
Suddenly, coming in very low over the edge of one of the moons craters was a badly damaged ship headed straight for the town. Parts were flying off, it was smoking heavily and it was descending incredibly quickly. Unfortunately, it looked like it was going to crash down at the end of the street. Like Alex had predicted it was an Arabian vessel, not known through-out the universe for their reliability. It was also in pretty bad shape and coming down hard.
He grabbed his wallet and hurried back inside the bar to warn the others of what they could now all clearly hear. A ship crashing.
As the commotion began and Alex flew back through the bar doors. Corey was settling into another drink as Alex was frantically shouting, although it was hard to hear him over the sound of scorching metal coming from outside which was being accompanied by people screaming and shouting. Finally the burning noises stopped, replaced by an enormous grinding and a crash before finally a shock-wave sent everyone in the bar to the floor, shattering most of the glass.
The high pitched wail ringing in everyone's ears soon passed only to be replaced by the shouting and screaming coming from outside, dispersed by energy weapon discharge. Corey's eyes shot open and he began to focus. For some reason he knew the sound and it put him on edge. The last thing he wanted now was to get fried, especially by Reclaimers and their high tech weapons. Everyone was trying to get back to their feet although Corey and Alex stayed low, almost instinctively. Looking round Corey growled, "get back down! If they see you, you're dead!" He didn't care for these people, his thinking was the less people making noise the less of a target you were. At first only a few got back down before the rest quickly followed suit. Corey pointed to the bathrooms and people began crawling towards the back while he got on his knees and slowly moved over to Alex. He was pulling parts for a rifle out of his ruck-sack and screwing them on as Corey made his introduction.
"Pleased I'm sure... Look you're the only guy in here armed and looking like they got training. I'm not about to just run out the fucking door so we need a plan."
The floorboards outside the bar began to creak. Corey closed his eyes and sighed, pulling his coat back to reveal the assault rifle clung tightly to his back. He loosened the strap, cycled out a round and signalled to the opposite side of the door. The creaking got louder as Corey set up under a window. He raised his hand, counting down in time with the footsteps.

'3'

'2'

'1'

The door flew off its hinges almost landing at the back of the bar. Corey grit his teeth and fired a couple of rounds towards the black hooded figure striding in. Alex popped up from behind an overturned table and watched as the first intruder fell, he then fired a couple of shots instantly killing the two who had rushed in behind before ducking back down. "Actually pal, rushing out WAS my plan." He moved up to the door and fired two more deadly shots, "Let's get outta here."
He wasted no time to see if he was followed, he ducked outside and hit the ground behind a water trough where he could see the street. Corey smiled as the man he would come to know as Alex killed four Reclaimer foot soldiers before he had even dived out the door. He was soon in tow but when Alex had begun laying down fire with his rifle Corey headed round the back of the building to cover him. From what they could tell the Arabian vessel was sitting atop a building that looked to have been the bank at the end of the street. Several Reclaimers were tearing through the wreckage screaming commands. Others were pounding down the street killing anyone who moved.

Or trying to.
On this rock, people shot back.

Reclaimers were often seen as the bad-guys of the universe. They didn't do much to help this image by being ruthlessly secretive. Even down to the way they dressed, thin veils and hoods covered their faces while higher ranked 'officers' made use of highly advanced stealth suits. Most people regarded the Reclaimers as highly intelligent although a massive threat to Known Space. Once upon a time, back on Earth and for a few hundred years after the Reclaimers had been purely human from all walks of life claiming to be 'fighting for the people' before allegedly blowing up planet Earth. Now days, thanks to decades of genetic engineering and interbreeding with alien species in Unknown space the Reclaimers are famed for having special abilities through the use of their unusual body art. Althought the one's fighting on Tucker IX for whatever reason felt like amatures compared to what Alex was used to when he usually fought with them, they also seemed to be holding back when it came to their 'advanced' skills.
Alex moved to where he had a little better view, taking cover behind a freshly wrecked shuttle. He placed his rifle on the charred rear spoiler. His shots were extremely quiet, a barely muffled cough, but very effective. Down the road between him and the ship, bodies were thrown back, tossed around and sent to the floor with brutal effect. Within seconds he was the target of retaliation. Alex ducked down again and reloaded his rifle. Then an idea hit him, probably out of stupidity or a want for his old days flying around the galaxy again, he could barely contain himself as he shouted to Corey. "Let's get to their ship! If we leave them stranded the locals can handle them. Besides, we might be able to fire on them with their own lasers!" Alex continued moving and shooting, nearly every shot hitting it's mark, more determined now than before. Corey had heard Alex while he was firing off few rounds. His kills less accurate than Alex's but they were kills none the less and because his gun was louder it took some of the heat away from his fighting partner who was carving a path of bodies down the street. He also provided a very patchy sense of covering fire, allowing Alex to move up as he needed. Corey peeked round from cover to take a look at the ship the Reclaimers had rode in on, "We need to get round the back! There's a locking mechanism we can destroy to get the door to drop!"
One of the Reclaimers had broken away from the pack and was about to dive at Alex with some kind of long-blade just outside his line of sight. Corey wasted no time raising his rifle and filling his chest with rounds, the cleanest kill he'd made all day. The Reclaimers retaliated with a barrage of fire, some only slightly grazing him but energy rounds hurt like hell. The bar, however, was no longer stable enough cover. Corey fell to the ground shivering. His mind was screaming at him, like a voice shouting with angry disappointment. The voice was not his own.

“COME ON!”

Slowly he pulled himself back up and retreated slightly behind the bar again, a vital few seconds given for a reload he badly needed. With a quick glance he checked how many mags remained in his pocket. Not many.
With a wrenching cough he raised his rifle and began firing at his attackers as they let their guns cool. He made a dive for the next building, emptying an entire magazine as he went and just as his gun ran empty, the bar he had been using as cover collapsed. The dust it had kicked up had been tremendous and Corey hadn't seen his new companion escape the destruction. Unfortunately the awning for the bar had been made from a ships cargo bay door, it was heavy as hell. Corey put it to the back of his mind, this guy knew what he was doing. He took a few seconds to reload again before making his way towards the ship. He couldn't hear Alex’s almost silent rifle over the sound of screams and people running.

Somehow, Alex had survived and was making his way down the street slowly and carefully. He joined small groups of the locals where he could before moving on to the next position. He'd heard Corey tell him to go to the back of the ship, to the cargo bay, so he figured they'd meet up there.

As the dust settled, Corey made his way back into cover behind some buildings and assessed the situation. Peering out from behind a shop he realized he'd run too far. The bank was about twenty meters behind him, he raised his rifle dispatching a few in the confusion before being returned upon.
"God DAMNIT!" He cried to himself as an energy orb hit his arm slamming him to the floor. He clenched his teeth and his eyes began watering up. The pain was almost unbearable. With gritted teeth and a twisted look of pain he could no longer hold the rifle properly and it fell to the ground. Reaching down he felt around with his hand and freed up the magazine. With his other hand he reached for a rock and began forcing the two together. When he was satisfied with his work, and too tired to continue, he used the last bit of life left in him to peer around the building. A few rounds found their way towards him missing just narrowly. Ducking quickly he threw the makeshift explosive towards the ship. One loud bang later and the firing had slowed, dust filled the streets again.
Corey fell back down and sighed, he sat himself against the wall, blood dribbling from his mouth. His heart-rate began to slow. In his last moments he lifted one of his roll-ups to his mouth and as the cherry began to burn, his arms dropped down to his sides.

Eventually Alex got to what was left of the bank and made his way through the ruins towards the ship's cargo bay where he found a small group of Reclaimers winching the bank's safe into the hold. He kept his distance, edging forward quietly. When he got within earshot, a loud explosion at the rear caused him to hit the deck without thought. A couple of screams and quite a bit of cursing followed along with another dust cloud. Alex could see that the explosion had severed the tow cables and the safe had fallen back out of the ship. He set up his rifle and took out the few Reclaimers he could see.
He shouted to his new partner, "Hey pal! If we're leaving now's the time!" Alex slung his rifle over his shoulder and ran towards the safe. It was cracked and he took a moment before sighting the cargo bay, shooting two more Reclaimers. Before long he was stuffing his carry-all with cash, Packing as much as he could inside his once empty bag.
Corey's eyes shot open almost as if he was possessed, he screamed in pain and lurched for his weapon, reloaded his final magazine, took a huge toke and began running. Screaming, as tribally as it was in pain, he charged for the bank, his head kept low. The Reclaimer forces were having a hard time keeping him pinned and soon, he was in the building. "I'm going for the bridge!" Alex yelled as he saw Corey diving into the wrecked bank. He was breathing heavy and bleeding all over the place, but he listened to the plan and nodded as Alex leapt onto the ship. Corey used his rifle to hold himself up as he clumsily stumbled towards the bank's aid box.
"....Nano injectors?.... Bandages?..... Where's all the good kit?" Before he could use any of it one of the bank raiding Reclaimers began to stir. When he spotted Corey standing near-by he reached for his weapon and began firing. A bullet found its way into Corey's leg, although as soon as it hit it was followed by the sharp injection of a nano booster. Corey's mouth widened slightly and a glint of evil crossed his face. Within seconds he had pulled his rifle up, and promptly used his last few rounds to end the life of the one who had shot him. The tell-tale click of an empty gun caused him to throw his rifle to the floor. With a sigh he turned back to the aid box, his smile returning to its normal thin frown.

Alex made his way through the ship, carefully. He didn't encounter anyone until he got to the bridge. After a short fire-fight he had a new bullet wound and the bridge to himself. "Hey buddy!" He paged over the intercom, "Get up here and run some fire control!"
Corey was in bad shape. He had found some useful things in the banks med-box but Alex had called him before he got the chance to use any of it. With a swift tug he pulled the med-box away from the wall and started towards the ramp. As he headed up into the ship, he too noticed the cracked safe and took a moment to stuff his pants and coat to the brim with cash. He even found room in the med-pack. Soon he was in the cargo bay, sealing the door.

Alex ran a quick scan over the controls and lit up the engines, trying to pry this heap from the wreckage of the bank. It took some work, shaking the wreck, overloading and blowing one engine.
Corey tumbled into the bridge, quickly locking the door behind him. He slammed into the co-pilots controls and was soon warming the lasers up although only two of them seemed to be working, the rest were totally fried. “This isn't how I planned to spend today! Seal off and drop that dead engine, its just extra weight now.”
'Drop that dead engine?' 'Corey' was beginning to remember.
A satisfying thud indicated that one of the engines had indeed been jettisoned but they weren't free yet. As Alex swung the ship around, Corey was trying to get the laser banks to work without frying locals. Using the many vid-screens and cameras he tried to help where he could. Alex tried to assist but flying the ship was already hard enough to handle.
Apparently, the Reclaimers felt that if they couldn't keep their stolen ship, no one could. The teams left on the ground began firing up at their escaping vessel. One shot hit the engine room, blowing a hole and exploding another one of the engines. Alex struggled with the controls, barely able to steer away from the danger, and made his break for atmo.
"What the hell did they do to this thing?" Corey shouted as he tried to lay down some fire. "The lasers take seven minutes to cool?! I'm switching to missile control." The missile system worked a bit better although the re-loader was clearly damaged, the projectiles were coming out and spinning wildly. Still they killed Reclaimers and the towns people were smart enough to stay out the way. "I think I should fly, you should gun. We can argue the finer points of who's who later." He fired another missile, leaving a small crater near the bar. Alex got the controls stable before he swapped with Corey., "Be careful, it pulls to the left pretty bad." Quickly Corey took the helm and began sealing sections of the ship off, dumping the other destroyed engine on a fleeing Reclaimer. His companion grabbed the weapons controls. Before long Corey had stabilized the ship, finalized the launch procedures and started praying that the heap would hold together long enough. A lot of panelling from the upper deck and most of the landing gear burned up in the atmosphere although soon they were high enough that they were out of the fight. A huge sigh of relief left Corey's lips as Tucker IX became a small dot on the nav-console.

The pair relaxed away from their consoles slightly but kept a hold of the controls just in case they’d been followed. The ship didn’t seem to have a working auto-pilot system either so Corey would need to stay sharp for the time being.
Once it was clear they weren’t being followed, Alex decided now would be a better time than any to go on a tour of the ship, securing any unsafe areas and looking for former occupants whilst Corey got used to the controls. He was also trying to work out how to seal the engine bay so he could take a look, it didn't take long for him to find an emergency over-ride and close off the less damaged engines.

Luckily for them, the ship was empty. Unfortunately, it was in pretty bad shape. The Arabians hadn't wanted to lose their ship and after the fire-fight back in town it was clear the Reclaimers hadn't wanted to lose it either, the battle scars varied from bullet holes to bloodstains throughout the ship. The only thing that bothered him was the lack of Reclaimer equipment on-board, they didn't usually steal a ship to do one time jobs with. There was nothing except Arabian transport ship decorations and the original owners equipment. Come to think of it, all the Reclaimers they'd run into in town were pretty weak compared to others he'd encountered before, no special abilities or mass-capture techniques, nothing. It put him slightly on edge. When he had made sure the ship was secure Alex returned to the bridge.

"Alex Turner," he paused for a second to consider his next sentence, "I'm an ...ex-soldier. And you are?"
Corey turned to face him, controls in hand. "Corey. Just Corey, I guess I'm an engineer. Pleased to meet you Al.” He smiled before turning back to the navigation screen, absent minded and with an unlit smoke hanging from his lips. A few button taps later and he was smirking. “The nav-com works, just about. It'll stop us from crashing into anything but it won't take us anywhere. I've put it on cruise control and set it to avoid, we should be fine for now.” Using some of the disconnected wiring Corey tied a knot around the controls to the seat but kept hold, unsure for a moment. "That should compensate for the lean, we got fluid coming outta everything on the left side, I'd need some equipment to fix it but for now it shouldn't be a problem with old ropey here." He hesitantly let go of the controls and adjusted the wires accordingly, the ship maintained a steady course. "Bingo."
Soon he was opening the med-box and patching himself up, removing the shells from the Reclaimer's lesser tech weaponry and giving himself a few boosters before offering Trouble one. As the meds began to take effect he relaxed for a moment before taking a deep breath. Slouching slightly into the pilots seat. With an obviously reluctant sigh Corey closed his eyes for a second, “I need to check on those engines they're making a terrible racket."
Another deep sigh, slowly he opened his eyes and pulled himself to his feet before stumbling towards the door. Alex shouted after him, "hold up, where are we headed? We need to get rid of this heap and figure out what to do next." Corey stopped and turned. "If this is like any of the other pieces of junk I've flown then we're probably best heading for the nearest planet..... Navcom says its Arkaos IV, we haven't got many options apart from that. None of the moons around here will let this heap land legally." He rubbed his brow and sighed, "Look that wire contraption isn't going to hold together forever, might be best to keep an eye on it while I'm downstairs. I won't be long." Corey quickly turned and headed back on his way.

The ship was eerie, almost lifeless. Had it not been for the horrific noises coming from the engine bay it would have easily been misconstrued as a ghost ship. All the lights in the engine room had either been shot or blown with some of the motors. Corey reached into the engineering locker at the entrance and lifted a small torch towards the wrecked machinery. "Well” he said as he rubbed his forehead, “this looks like shit.."
After a while Corey covered the working engines back up and cut some holes for ventilation in the metal sheeting. It made a little less noise but the fumes were getting to him before he could make any real repairs. Stumbling back up to the bridge, he slumped into his chair and took a hold of the controls. "Yeah..." he coughed. "We need to land somewhere soon, I think we need an oil change."